Murder of the Mind
by AnEmOnE2
Summary: A devastating blow to the head during the Cell games...now a hybrid struggles to decipher between reality and horrifying memories...while at the same time he is the only force to stop a diabolical evil far worse than any android...Mirai Buu!


Yo! I wanted to try my hand at DBZ fanficin...so, here goes! It's basically about Mirai Trunks when he's twenty-five...and thanks to a devastating injury to the head, he has no control over his memories...that, and he has to deal with the fight of his life...PLEASE READ AND LIKE!!! o.o;;   
  
  
  
I don't own DBZ, check wit my man Akira Toriyama bout that sitch...well, enjoy!   
  
Chapter One: Weak Mentality  
  
Sapphire struck against air...it darted narrowly from side to side...watching in stifled horror as yet another city was demolished. A shard of lavender swept in lulling rolls before his disciplined glare of fixation. His mesmerizing eyes faceted in slits of preparation...sharpening to almost teal glints.  
  
"Darn those two!!" he snarled, his taut expression shivering in helplessness.  
  
"This, is ridiculous! ARGH! They never even had, a chance!" his sensei roared.   
  
Trunks pricked, blinking awkwardly...and witnessed what felt like a magic spell, that only Gohan could perform.   
  
The superior couldn't be bothered either way...he couldn't be swayed. Gohan stroked his velvet tongue across the surface of his quivering lips...and steadied his stance for his transformation. His glare was deadly, slit with a rage of blue flame within the confines of onyx irises.   
  
  
  
An unnatural breeze, wafting in gentle licks through the sensei's spiking mane. The breeze slipped from Gohan's very pores, a manifestation of his raging ki...suddenly, with a jerk of a growl, it soared free in vast shots, rustling his raven hair in fiery jerks.   
  
Crackles singed from the deepest cores of his form...they shot like bursts of flame from the every sculpted crevice of his body...his scalp was charred, his jet locks sharpening into the glorious golden spikes Trunks had only beheld few times before. They swayed in sync to his airy ki...his saffron aura encased his muscular figure...the glints of his ki catching to the crevices of his face gave off the illusion of an angelic demon.   
  
His eyes had mutated a new feel...they were a royal teal...clashing into themselves with the intensity of the seas they mirrored. They stared with a darkness to them...almost an evil...they were overwhelming.  
  
Trunks's shirt rolled in eerie ripples, the breeze engulfing his master striking him like a satin sheen. "Gohan! You can't go!" his eyes jerked painfully to that barren spot...sapphire burned longingly to see his sensei's left arm again...  
  
"Look Trunks...no matter what happens, I want you to stay here." those daring oceanic eyes, so thin with sincerity, glared the fourteen-year-old down. The demi-Saiyan snuffed, glaring back with his royal heritage of determination and unshakable will.  
  
"Are you crazy?! No way! I can't let you fight those two alone!" Trunks's knuckles set white in firmness, clenching to almost break the skin.   
  
The superior almost growled trying to calm his pupil's swelling aura...Gohan snorted crudely, and set his expression hard. "Listen...I'm a lot more vulnerable when you're there with me."  
  
Trunks's lavender locks rustled to fall in sync with his billowing impatience. "But I'm much stronger this time! Come on, I can't let you take those two on with your injury! Please, Gohan! Take me with you!" he negated with the stubbornness of only his father. His expression was tense, and with that glare so naturally thin and battle-worthy...Gohan was fazed by memories of Vegeta, scoffing and glaring with his fiery coal eyes...the sensei subconsciously pricked, seeing Vegeta so plainly in the youth's gaze.  
  
Without even a true thought, Son Gohan's poker-face stripped away, and though he was still caged in rolls of his stunning saffron aura, and though his hair still jut in burning dagger spikes, and though his eyes were still as cold and teal as the most daring of oceans...the soft, gentle Gohan...the youth to have practically raised Trunks from a sideline...the man who stood chin deep in pure, concentrated respect from his 'little brother'...was exposed, in a smile to break way even against the strength of a Super Saiyan.  
  
"All right, Trunks," he sighed calmly, his smile warmer than even the scorching flames encircling him. "...you win. Let's go get 'em."   
  
Trunks's royal glare shattered to way of a beam, the youth's composure stripping down to free his excitement. The youth nodded exuberantly, a cold rush zapping through his neck as anticipation and the thrill of battle aroused deep within his core. "Right!" he nodded readily, ripping from his sensei's enthralling gaze to face the challenge before him. "Cool..." he murmured to himself.  
  
Gohan pricked..realizing just how much of a child Trunks was...the sensei was hurt by the excitement flickering a teal sheen to the Saiyan boy's eyes...he couldn't take how he had subjected, because of a distant memory...of this child's warrior father.   
  
Trunks pricked, having caught the most insignificant shadow of a sigh behind him. Before he could even move—  
  
"AH!" he struck to an upright position, lavender sprawling flaccid over his face. His eyes quivered, white completely ringing the dramatic sapphire of his half-human irises. Beads of crystalline snaked down the crevices of his tensed, veined temple. They ripped from his shivering jaw, sponging deep into the fibers of his one sheet. He shuddered uncontrollably, bracing and cradling his arms.   
  
"...G...G-Go, han..." the twenty-five-year-old stuttered, his voice an eerie breath riddled with fear and regret. "...Gohan...why?"  
  
He held his pained face in one sprawled hand, the fingers tight to his horrified expression. "...why..."  
  
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The pattering of keys shot throughout the halls, bouncing off the soulless walls of the lonely ex-corporation...it was once an empire, thriving on the demand of the community...now it lacked all but half-dead computers and software...and housed not the thousands it once did in its supreme era...but rather, only one...the soul heir of the entire property. Bulma Briefs.   
  
A pen was pinched between her teeth, and her eyes twitched with every new calculation to compute in her honed mind. "...yeah, yeah!" she muttered around her pen, her tone muffled, yet as satisfyingly stern as she had intended. "...perfect...it'll run like a dream now, he'll see!"  
  
The screen hit a poisonous green tint over the grooves of her aging face...its corpse-like glow burned a smog tint into her sapphire locks, the blue free of its reach falling in lush color. Her oceanic eyes stared mercilessly into the dying graphics of her aging hardware...her poker face was strict, domineering...and never missed a beat.   
  
Prick. A motion shifted in the halls...it was dreary, and slow...in all her years dealing with the androids...paranoia had been honed sharply into her system...burned into her blood.  
  
Bulma tore from her work, and meshed into the shadows...her old shovel, shapely and very reliable, was the only means of solid matter she had the pleasure of finding...it was so conveniently placed here because this was her third office...in the old yard shed. Her slender hands ensnared the handle, and her knuckles jut white in tightness.   
  
A shadow collapsed through the open doorframe, and a mumble of question escaped the intruder's muffled lips. Bulma flew from the corner, whipping the shovel with every fiber of her limited might into striking the target down...the neck snapped on impact with the intruder's head, and an annoyed groan hazed free.  
  
"AH! MA!" he growled, a wince ensnaring his irritated features. The shovel dangled lifelessly off the side of his head, the jagged wood fibers woven into his shoulder-length lavender mane. He ripped it free, and tossed it away, flashing his mother with a low glare of tire.  
  
"Trunks! Oh my gosh I'm so sorry!!!" she awkwardly thrust the severed shovel's handle aside, and enveloped her son in a warm embrace. "Are you okay, baby?!"  
  
"Mom, I'm fine..." his eyes rolled as she forcefully inspected the spot of contact. "...I just wish I'd be able to visit my mother without her attacking me for once...but I must say, even though the androids have been dead—for five years—maybe it's safer in my apartment..."   
  
Bulma pulsed in an awkward giggle, and hugged her boy again. "Oh Trunks...I think it's going to take me thirteen years just to get used to no androids...I mean, I was in denial for the first twelve years that they WERE around!"   
  
The youth's eyes shot backwards in a low roll...a chuckle pulsed his front in gentle quivers...he never laughed hard...always calm and modest, if at all. Bulma smirked proudly at her composed son...he was the ideal boy...independent, respectful...kind. She stroked her spidery fingers through his long mane, tucking a lock tenderly behind one ear. "You're so handsome, Trunks."  
  
A scarlet streak glowed over the slope of his nose...he chuckled awkwardly, and cast innocent eyes to the toes of his boots. "Aw, Ma..." he fidgeted uncomfortably.   
  
"You can't take compliments, can you?" she smirked daringly.  
  
"Heh..." his lips curled slightly in a timid smile. Suddenly, a viciously dramatic change in emotion zapped to his face...fear, pain, shock, and confusion swarmed his eyes with overwhelming color. He collapsed, striking the floor with a clatter of limpness.  
  
"Trunks?!" his mother shrieked, diving to his side. She dragged his head into her lap, and shook his shoulders. "Trunks?! Trunks! Trunks, wake up!!"  
  
He shivered with a jerking pulse, his nerves completely shot...his pupils blinked from reality, and he stared with blank sapphire orbs into the air...unaware of his mother's screams.  
  
—Black. Darkness. Suffocation. Pain. Blink, and sapphire shot sternly in all directions. A frustrated growl sizzled in the crevices of his clenched teeth, and he ripped his glare back and forth. "Where am I?!" he roared, a pulsing sensation screaming at his subconscious to power up.  
  
Suddenly, a calming patter struck against his flesh. Trunks pricked, his frame calmer as he watched blankly out before him. He rolled his neck back, and stared into the bowels of the clashing sky...grays, onyxes, purples, and blacks swirled together, growling and snapping with crackles of lightening. Soft, satin rain shed from the dangerous clouds, and hit his body with a lulling grace.   
  
Clammy steam arose from the hot streets he found himself on as the cooling rain pattered against the tar...the world was dead, with rubble and debris every which way...the twenty-five-year-old blinked in confusion...eerie familiarity stabbed to the back of his mind...yet he couldn't remember this setting.  
  
"This just isn't fair!!"  
  
Trunks pricked...and terror zapped visible to the cores of his trembling eyes. He threw his glare over his shoulder to catch that echoing scream...and found the figure of a trembling boy, no older than fourteen.  
  
'...his voice...it sounded...so...familiar...AH!' Trunks was pried from his thoughts as overwhelming horror played with his emotions... 'no...no, oh my God, no!"  
  
The fourteen-year-old...was crying, shivering over a limp body...a limp body clad in orange gi.  
  
"GOHAN!!!" the boy shrieked, throwing his soaking head back...the heat burrowing in his pain, swelling under his skin, was soothed just barely by the cool rains. Lavender flew after the jerk of his head, and Trunks froze...seeing the face of his younger self.  
  
The twenty-five-year-old went completely limp, watching himself eleven years prior scream in hysterical torment. Young Trunks lay his master's head to the ground, and tore away...Older Trunks couldn't rip his eyes from Gohan's tattered form...the blood, the scars...the blank, frozen glare of horror and pain burned into Gohan's still, lifeless eyes...the older Trunks screamed, and collapsed to his knees...he wrenched at his hair, and his power popped through to the surface, completely encircling him with a flaming aura...his tears tried stains onto his cheeks, and he screamed in bitter torment...his younger self wailed, throwing his head and arms back as he broke past his limits...stunning saffron winds gathered around him, and charred his scalp...the memory version of the pained, tragic youth collapsed to his knees as his superior version had...older Trunks watched on with his vision hazed by tears...he screamed again, insanity racking his senses.  
  
—"AHH!" he shot from his tragic surroundings...and the entire scene, the clouds, the rain, the debris...and the pain...blinked way for reality...for the present. Trunks jerked in a full sit, twisting mad directions...he glared his pillow down, and saw it soaked in redness.   
  
"...oh no..." he murmured, his hands subconsciously fluttering to thrashed temples. "...not again...not here...if I had one at Ma's...that means...Ma saw me-"  
  
"-Trunks!!" he heard his mother yelp from the open doorframe. She sprinted to his side, catching his face in her worried hands...she locked his gaze into hers, her eyes sagging and flashing in fear. "...Trunks...what happened to you?!"   
  
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Okay so what do you all think so far? It's a little odd, but believe me...it's gonna get good! ^_~ please review!!! 


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